


Everywhere I'm Going To

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Childhood Memories, Masturbation, Memories, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Shelby reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everywhere I'm Going To

It’s a last resort every time. When sleep won’t come and the collar of his shirt is limp with sweat. His hand moves, silently slipping with uneasy, welcoming fingers into his drawers.

It’s a sin, he supposes, but there’s enough of that going around he can’t be too bothered about it.

The first stroke makes his eyes roll back in his head, his breath half catching in his throat. Familiar as ever, his palm on his cock. It’s not so much the touching. Not only that, at any rate. It’s the memories, crisp and clear like they were faded between the pages of the family Bible, kept only for nights such as these.

The first time his aunt bade him bend over the wooden kitchen table with his trousers down around his ankles, he’d been a lad of ten. She’d used a switch and he felt it days later, the marks making him wince every time he shifted in his seat at school. Funny thing is, he can’t remember what he’d done. Only that it had crossed the line and tried her patience too far.

After that, when he was bigger, and brought more trouble home, she had used a belt. Thick and broad, leaving welts that drew tears to his eyes, and a heavy, aching weight in his balls. Once as soon as she had dismissed him he’d stumbled broad-legged out to the john, dropping the latch in place before unbuttoning his trousers. In those days, it took no time at all for him. It became a game. Knowing what’d she’d do if he pushed her too far, eyeing the belt hanging on the back of the kitchen door.

He’s doing his best these days. But some nights it’s not enough, and he wishes that she had used the poker, finished the job for once instead of only berating him with words again. If she’d only looked further and seen the need there in his eyes, could she have denied it?

He spends at last and wipes his hand on the mattress. Weariness prickles at the back of his eyelids. This time sleep comes.


End file.
